


exes & oh's

by ntkrrs



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntkrrs/pseuds/ntkrrs
Summary: Something shifts in the air, something deep and heady and wanting. Something forbidden. Something… something otherworldly, beautiful, perfect. Something familiar. The realisation nearly floors her. It’s been years, but the way it slams into her chest and opens her eyes still makes her mouth dry.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	exes & oh's

**Author's Note:**

> i read a subtle asian traits about how this girl was concerned that her boyfriend was still talking to his ex of six years, and we were talking about the familiarity that exists between them over at the royai discord, which both got me thinking. 
> 
> and y’all know thinking brings me places.
> 
> —
> 
> posted this some days ago on the [tumblr](https://notkorras.tumblr.com). head over for more bits like this!

_—Nancy, Ingrid, Greta, Helen, Teresa,_ Riza finishes, then stops.

 _Can I see you tonight?_ is the message she gleans from his ridiculous speech.

She tries not to let out a frustrated breath; it would be wildly apparent in this current room filled with some new teammates. It’s Friday and the team leaves early on Fridays; normally she’s left behind because she’d rather finish everything on the last day of the week instead of go through the hassle of figuring out how to catch up on things on the first day of the week.

He used his code, but he basically _broadcasted_ it to the rest of his subordinates, talking about how his weekend escapades will go after two sharp taps of his pen against the wood of his desk. He’s discreet, sure, but apparently he’s still stupid.

Her response is clipped neatly to the top page of the latest pile she gives him. But because _she’s_ not stupid, she only gives it as soon as the door closes on Havoc, the last person to leave the room. He shoots Riza a meaningful look before disappearing between the office doors.

She pretends not to notice.

* * *

The knock on her door is swift and punctual, light but firm at her door at exactly a quarter past nine in the evening. She shuts her curtains before she opens the door, dressed in a spare uniform shirt and dark pyjama pants, Black Hayate yipping at her heels. “Hello, sir.”

“No need for that,” Mustang waves off, walking into her apartment and leaving a generous pat on the dog’s head with his free hand; he has something in the other. Before he can get very far, she smacks his arm and sternly points at his shoes. He grumbles as he takes them off. “You think when you become General you get to bypass a few rules.”

“If you went through all the trouble to _blatantly announce_ that you were going to bed half the women in Central, _sir_ ,” Riza says flatly, “the least you can do while hiding out in my apartment is to take off your shoes.”

“You know I was just doing that to throw everyone off,” he defends, walking into her apartment, barefoot.

Riza follows. “Havoc wasn’t.”

“Throw everyone who doesn’t matter off,” he corrects with another wave of his hand. “He’s privy, anyway.”

“You were careless and you’re making excuses.”

The General shrugs. “Semantics.”

Riza sighs. “May I know what this social call is for?”

Mustang finally turns, smiling wryly at her. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to talk?” 

If she’s being honest, she wouldn’t. She knows him, _had_ known him, for so long, maybe even knows him better than she knows herself. Nothing is ever _just_ something when it comes to him. 

He indicates to the package in his hand, and Riza notices it’s a six pack of a drink she couldn’t read the label of. “I even brought rations.”

What comes out of her mouth is a Yes.

* * *

The light in her main studio is off; only the light from her foyer allows her to see. They’re seated on opposite ends of her couch, nursing their own drinks. Riza had pulled out juice from her cooler earlier, to mix with the sharp, stiff drink that Roy unveils was a gift from a visiting attache. He, on the other hand, is taking his neat. 

She expects he’ll be drunk soon. He’s on his third glass.

They’d talked about almost everything and anything—about the team, about Lieutenant March, the new recruit (Roy heard he was an excellent marksman, a potential rival to Hawkeye, and they devise a plan how to get March into a target practice so she can see what he can do). They talk about the pretty new receptionist running the phones (Riza’s seen her with March at lunch several times and the plan went from ‘seeing what he can do’ to ‘crushing his spirit’). They talk about other things, like work, and meetings, and Chris. They talk about his sisters and how Hayate’s been behaving. 

But it all seems like an elaborate way of playing dumb, until the liquor turns into courage and warms their bones, readying them for what this is really all about.

“Sometimes,” he begins, voice cutting into the silence. Hayate’s ears perk from the corner of the room but stays still otherwise. “Sometimes I think if I made the right choice.”

Riza knows that this is when everything will either soar or sink. “The right choice?”

“Yeah. If—If this was the right choice.”

“We do what we can,” Riza mumbles, looking into her own glass. She brings her knee up and places her chin on it. “I think it’s a noble effort, to build a better country.”

A dry smile pushes its way unto his face. “I don’t mean work, Hawkeye,” he murmurs, and their eyes meet.

A thrill runs through Riza. Before she can make sure, he speaks.

“People would call it weird, keeping in close contact with your ex even though you’ve broken up over ten years ago,” he continues.

“Would they,” she asks, but it’s not a question.

“But you’re also my best friend.” He looks back at his drink. “Maes would call me an idiot.”

“For having another best friend?”

The answer isn’t something she expects. “For not marrying you when I had the chance.”

Riza’s stomach coils and she downs the rest of her drink. “That’s not something you tell your ex.”

“But that _is_ something you tell your best friend,” he counters, and she has nothing to say to that.

Silence. She sighs and leans to place her empty glass on the coffee table and curling over her knee, threading her fingers under her chin. She doesn’t look at him, but she knows what his gaze feels like. 

“Do you think about what could have been?” he asks.

“No,” she answers truthfully. “It won’t do to dwell.”

His laugh is a sharp exhale. “Snipers have excellent vision.” He takes a sip. “Alchemists, on the other hand. Fools, the lot of us.”

“Does science breed a fool?”

“Well, maybe it’s just me, then.” He finishes off the liquor. “Can I be honest?”

“Have you not been?”

He scowls. “Stop teasing me.”

“Sorry,” she says with a loose smile. The alcohol has gotten to her, it seems.

“What was I saying?” he says, almost slurring.

“Something about honesty.”

“Right.” He takes a deep breath. “I… Riza Hawkeye,” he says seriously, and the look in his eyes makes the alcohol evaporate from within her. 

He then rubs his mouth, as if ridding it of what he was going to say. “Fuck. I’m…” He lets out another breath, deeper, fuller, almost more pained. “Riza.”

The sound of her name makes her close her eyes, reminds her of how life used to be. “Roy,” she responds, and the ease of it around her tongue is shocking. It’s been years, but it feels like minutes.

Something shifts in the air, something deep and heady and wanting. Something forbidden. Something… something otherworldly, beautiful, perfect. Something familiar. The realisation nearly floors her. It’s been years, but the way it slams into her chest and opens her eyes still makes her mouth dry.

Roy feels it too; she can tell when he shakes his head. He stands and closes his eyes. “I should go home.”

She doesn’t want him to. “You should.”

“Hawkeye,” he murmurs as soon as he finishes putting his boots back on. He gives Hayate another heavy pet while he’s hunched over, but soon he turns and looks down at her, right at her, so close and so _there_. 

“We’ll—” he says, “We’ll be happy one day.”

She closes her eyes and her lip trembles, a heat prickling at the back of her eyelids. It scares her, how much she wants it. Her body feels oddly centered, sharp, driven anew. When her eyes open, they’re harder, colder. “Sir.”

He smiles, that wry thing that’s been there all night. It’s bittersweet, how he seems to take it in stride. “Good night.”

“Good night,” she responds, but he’s already left.

**Author's Note:**

> this is inconsequential to the fic, but i'm patting myself on the back for how witty i was with that title.


End file.
